CHAPTER XXVI.

"I saw thee once—once only;—"

supposed to commemorate his first sight of her as, passing her garden "one July midnight," he beheld her robed in white, reclining on a bank of violets, with her eyes raised heavenward.

"No footsteps stirred; the hated world all slept,Save only thee and me. Oh, heaven—oh, God!How my heart beats in coupling those two words—Save onlythee and me!"

So, he continues, he gazed entranced until—the hour being past midnight and a storm-cloud threatening—the lady very properly arose and disappeared from his sight; all but her eyes. These remained and followed him home, and had followed him ever since:

"——two sweetly scintillantVenuses; unextinguished by the sun."

All this must have been very gratifying to Mrs. Whitman—if she believed in it—but, remembering her neglected valentine, she was in no haste to acknowledge the poetic offering, and Poe, after waiting some weeks, had his attention drawn in another direction.

He had written to his friend, Mr. Mackenzie, concerning his matrimonial aspirations, and he now received an answer, suggesting that he come to Richmond and try his fortune with an old-time school-girl sweetheart, Miss Sarah Elmira Royster, now a rich "WidowShelton," who had several times of late inquired after him and sent her "remembrances."

Animated by this new hope, he, late in the summer of 1847, proceeded to Richmond, where he visited among his friends and called upon Mrs. Shelton, but especially paid attention to a pretty widow, a Mrs. Clarke. This lady, when a resident of Louisville, Kentucky, many years after Poe's death, gave to the editor of a paper some reminiscences of him at this time.

"The good lady was deeply interested that the world might think well of Poe, and grew warm on the subject of his wrongs. She claimed that the poet was a Virginian, and, like most Virginians, she is very proud of her State. She wondered where Gill had gotten the material for Poe's vindication. She had first met Poe at the Mackenzies, when he was editor of theSouthern Literary Messenger, and he afterward boarded at the same hotel as herself; but she saw most of him on his visit to Richmond previous to his last. He was then at her house daily, and sometimes two or three times a day. He came there, as he said, to rest.

"If there happened to be friends present hewas often obliging enough to read, and would sometimes read some of his own poems; but he would never readThe Ravenunless he felt in the mood for it. When in Richmond he generally stayed with the Mackenzies atDuncan Lodge, and would drive in with them at any time. One day he came in with his sister and two of the Mackenzies and stopped with me. There were some other people present, and he readThe Ravenfor us. He shut out the daylight and read by an astral lamp on the table. When he was through all of us that had any tact whatever spared our comments and let our thanks be brief; for he was most impatient of both."

Of Poe's reading, Mrs. Clark spoke with enthusiasm. "It was altogether peculiar and indescribable," she said. "I have heardThe Ravenread by his friend, John R. Thompson, and others, but it sounded so strange and affected, compared with his own delivery. Poe had a wonderful voice—rich, mellow and sweet. I cannot give you any idea of it. Edwin Booth sometimes reminds me of him in his eyes and expression, but Poe's voice was peculiar to himself. I have never heard anything like it. He often read from Shelley and other poets. One day he pointed out tome in one of Shelley's poems what he considered the truest characteristic of hopeless love that he knew of:

"'The desire of the moth for the star,Of the night for the morrow.'

"I enjoyed a good deal of his society during that visit in 1847. On his last visit I saw less of him. He was then said to be engaged to a Mrs. Shelton. Some said he was marrying her for her money. There was a good deal of gossip at that time concerning Poe. His intemperate habits especially were exaggerated and made the most of by those who did not like him, while his companions in dissipation escaped unnoticed. When he was in company at a party for instance—you might see a little of him in the earlier part of the evening, but he would presently be off somewhere. Then his eccentricities; I think that when a very young man he imitated Byron."

Mrs. Clarke said she had seldom seen a good likeness of Poe. The best she had cut from an old magazine. "This engraving," she said, showing it, reflects at once the fastidiousness and the virility characteristic of his temperament. All the others have an expressionpitiably weak. His worst calumniators could hardly desire for him a harder fate than the continual reproduction of that feeble visage. When he had money he was lavish and over-generous with it. He was always refined. You felt it in his very presence. And as long as I knew him, and as much as I was with him, I never saw him in the least intoxicated. I have seen him when he had had enough wine to make him talk with even more than his usual brilliancy. Indeed, to talk in a large general company, some little stimulant was necessary to him. Dr. Griswold says he was arrogant, dogmatic and impatient of contradiction. I have heard him engage in discussions frequently; oftenest with diffidence, always with consideration for others. In a large company it was only when exhilarated with wine that he spoke out his views and ideas with any degree of self-assertion."

Mrs. Clarke said that his sister, Rosalie, was rather pretty and resembled himself somewhat in appearance, but "was as different as possible in mental capacity. She was amiable, patient and sweet-tempered, but as a companion wholly tiresome and monotonous. She seemed to have had little or no individuality or force of character. She thought a greatdeal of her brother, but during the greater part of their lives they had seen nothing of each other. The family of Mr. Mackenzie treated her affectionately and kindly, and until the breaking up of the household she remained with them, and then went to Baltimore to her relatives, the Poes. I don't know what became of her afterwards."

Mrs. Clarke speaks of Poe's reading and lectures during his first visit to Richmond; but these were mere small social entertainments at the houses of various acquaintances. He really gave but one public lecture during this visit to Richmond. One evening at Mrs. Mackenzie's she said to him: "Edgar, since people appear so eager to hear you repeatThe Raven, why not give a public recital, which might benefit you financially?" Being further urged, he finally yielded. One hundred tickets were advertised, at fifty cents each, and the music hall of the fashionable Exchange Hotel engaged for the occasion. On the appointed evening Poe stepped upon the platform to face an audience ofthirteenpersons, including the janitor and several to whom complimentary tickets had been presented. Of these was Mrs. Shelton, who occupied a seat directly in front of the platform. Poe was cool and selfpossessed, but his delivery mechanical and rather hurried, and on concluding he bowed and abruptly retired. One of the audience remarked upon the unlucky number of thirteen; and Mrs. Julia Mayo Cabell commented indignantly upon the indifference of the Richmond people to "their own great poet." Poe was undoubtedly in a degree mortified, not at the indifference manifested, but at the picture presented by the large and brilliantly lighted hall and himself addressing the group of thirteen which constituted the audience. But his failure may be explained by the fact that in this month of August theeliteand educated people of the city were mostly absent in the mountains and by the sea-shore; and the weather being extremely sultry, few were inclined to exchange the cool breezes of the "city of the seven hills" for a crowded and heated lecture room, even to hearThe Ravenread by its author.

During this visit of Poe to Richmond, I, with my mother and sister, was away from home, in the mountains, and we thus missed seeing him. On our return shortly after his departure, we heard various anecdotes concerning him, one or two of which I subjoin as illustrative of his natural disposition.

One evening, quite late, an alarm of fire was raised, and all the young men of Duncan Lodge, accompanied by Poe, hastened to the scene of disaster, about a mile further in the country. Finding a great crowd collected, and that their services were not required, they sat on a fence looking on, and it was past midnight when they thought of returning home. Gay young Dr. "Tom" Mackenzie remarked that it would never do to return in their immaculate white linen suits, as they would be sure to get a "wigging" from the old ladies for not having helped to put out the fire, and, besides, they were all hungry, and he knew how they could get a good supper. With that he seized a piece of charred wood and commenced besmirching their white garments and their hands and faces, including Poe's. Arriving at home in an apparently exhausted condition, they were treated by Mrs. Mackenzie herself, who would not disturb her servants, to the best that the pantry afforded, nor was the trick discovered until the following day. Mrs. Mackenzie laughed, but from Mrs. Carter, the mother of two of the culprits, and who was gifted with eloquence, they got the "wigging" which they had been anxious to avoid. And from accounts, Poe enjoyed it all immensely.

A lady told me that one evening, going over to Duncan Lodge, her attention was attracted by the sound of voices in the garden, where she beheld all the young men in the broad central alley engaged in the classic game of "leapfrog." When it came to Mr. Poe's turn, she said, "he took a swift run and skimmed over their backs like a bird, seeming hardly to touch the ground. I never saw the like." Mr. Jones, Mrs. Mackenzie's son-in-law, who was rather large and heavy, came to grief in his performance, and no one laughed more heartily than did Poe.

Was this the melancholy, morbid, "weird and wholly incomprehensible being" that the world has pictured the author ofThe Raven? Among these youthful spirits and his old friends, the depressing influences of his late life and home—the poverty, the friendlessness—seemed to vanish, and his real disposition reasserted itself. Pity that it could not have been always so. I am convinced that a great deal of Poe's unhappiness and apparent reserve and solitariness was owing to his obscure home life, which kept him apart from all genial social influences. At the North, wherever seen out of his business hours, he appears to have been "alone and solitary,proud and melancholy looking," says one, who had no idea of the loneliness of spirit, the lack of genial companionship, which made him so. With a few he was on friendly terms, but of intimate friends or associates he had not one so far as is known.

Of the Mackenzies, so closely associated with Poe during his lifetime, I may be allowed to say that a more attractive family group I have rarely known. Beside those I have mentioned were the two youngest members, "Mr. Dick" and Mattie or "Mat"—wayward, generous, warm-hearted Mat, indifferent to people's opinion and heedless of conventionalities. She cared for nothing so much as her horse and dog, and spent an hour each day in the stables, while her aunt, Miss Jane, would exclaim in despair: "I don't know what to do with Martha. I cannot make a lady of her;" to which she would answer with a satisfied assurance that nature had never intended her to be a lady.

But about this time—in October—Mat was married. There are ladies living who have heard from their mothers, at that time young girls, accounts of this famous wedding. The festivities were kept up for full two weeks, with ever-changing house parties, and eachevening music and dancing, with unbounded hospitality. Miss Jane Mackenzie, upon whom the family chiefly depended, and whose fortune they expected to inherit, was gone on a visit to her brother in London; but she had given Mat a liberal sum wherewith to celebrate her wedding. Sadly my thoughts pass from this gay time over the next ten years or so to the time of "the war" and the changes which it brought to this family and to us all.

Poe was still in Richmond, presumably courting the widow Shelton, though in so quiet a manner that it attracted little or no attention, when he unexpectedly received from Mrs. Whitman, who seems to have repented of her silence, a letter or poem of so encouraging a nature that he immediately left Richmond and proceeded to New York. Here he obtained a letter of introduction to Mrs. Whitman, which he on the following day presented to that lady at her home in Providence. The next evening he spent in her company, and on the succeeding day asked her to marry him!

Receiving no definite answer, he, on his return to New York, sent her a letter in which, alluding to his previous intention of addressing Mrs. Shelton, he says:

"Your letter reached me on the very day on which I was about to enter upon a course which would have borne me far away fromyou, sweet, sweet Helen, and the divine dream of your love."

A few weeks later, when he had obtained from her a conditional promise of marriage, he again wrote—a letter in which he clearly alludes to his still cherished design of establishing theStylus, from which he anticipates such brilliant results. Thus he artfully and apparently for the first time seeks to interest her in the scheme.

"Am I right, dearest Helen, in the impression that you are ambitious? If so, and if you will have faith in me, I can and will satisfy your wildest desires. It would be a glorious triumph for us, darling—for you and me ... to establish in America the sole unquestionable aristocracy—that of the intellect; to secure its supremacy, to lead and control it. All this I can do, Helen, and will—if you bid meand aid me."

Aware of her belief in occult and spiritual influences, he tells her that once, on hearing a lady repeat certain utterances of hers which appeared but the secret reflex of his own spirit, his soul seemed suddenly to become one with hers. "From that hour I loved you. I have never seen or heard your name without a shiver, half of delight, half of anxiety. Theimpression left upon my mind was that you were still a wife." (No such scruple had disturbed him in the case of Mrs. Osgood and others.) He goes on thus artfully to explain the incident of his declining Mrs. Osgood's offer of an introduction to Mrs. Whitman while in Providence. "For this reason I shunned your presence. You may remember that once, when I passed through Providence with Mrs. Osgood, I positively refused to accompany her to your house. I dared neither go, or say why I could not. I dared not speak of you, much less see you.For yearsyour name never passed my lips, while my soul drank in with a delirious thirst all that was uttered in my presence respecting you."

It will be observed that he is here speaking of a time when his wife, whom he "loved as man never before loved," was yet living; and also when he was giving himself up to his unreasoning passion for Mrs. Osgood, whom he had followed to Providence.

After this, who shall undertake to defend Poe from the charge of insincerity and dissimulation?

Mrs. Osgood calls Poe's letters "divinely beautiful." We cannot tell how Mrs. Whitman was affected by them, but certainly herwhole course exhibits her in a constant struggle between her own inclination and the influence of friends who desired to save her from the match with Poe. As early as January 21, 1848, it was known to the public that an engagement existed between the two, and I have the authority of Mrs. Kellogg for the statement that during the summer of that year Mrs. Whitman three times renewed this engagement and was as often compelled to break it, owing to his unfortunate habits. The last engagement was made on his solemnly vowing reformation; on which a day was fixed for the marriage and the services of a clergyman bespoken by Poe himself, who thereupon wrote to Mrs. Clemm desiring her to be ready to receive himself and his bride—at Fordham!

One may imagine the dismay of poor Mrs. Clemm when she read this letter and looked around the humble home with its low-ceiled upstairs room, which had been Virginia's; the pine kitchen table and her dozen pieces of crockery. For once her strong mind and resourceful talent must have failed her. How was she to accommodate the fastidious bride of her most inconsiderate son-in-law? How even provide a wedding repast against their arrival? But happily she was spared the horror of such an experience, for on the appointed day Poe arrived at Fordham alone, though in a state of nervous excitement, which necessitated days and even weeks of careful nursing on the part of his patient and long-suffering mother-in-law.

This final separation between the two—for they never again met—was caused by Poe's intemperance at his hotel in Providence on the day previous to that appointed for his marriage. He had delivered a lecture which was enthusiastically applauded, and on his return to the hotel he found himself surrounded by an admiring crowd, whose hospitalities he at first resolutely declined, but with his usual weakness of will, finally yielded to. Of the stormy scene when, on the following day, Mrs. Whitman finally and decisively refused to marry him, she has herself given an account, representing Poe as alternately pleading and "raving" in his unwillingness to accept her decision. But there can be no question but that he was at this time either in some degree mentally unbalanced or in such a state physically as that the least excess would serve to excite his mind beyond its normal condition and render him partly irresponsible. Of thiswe have proof in the fact of his intention of taking his proposed bride to Fordham.

That Mrs. Whitman was really interested in her gifted and eccentric suitor is evident, and in her heart she was loyal to him, as is shown by her defence of him after his death, and also by the lines which she addressed to him some months after their separation, entitled, "The Isle of Dreams." Most of her poems written after this time had some reference to him; and it is worthy of note that no woman whom Poe professed to love ever lost her interest in him. The fascination which he exerted over them must have been something extraordinary.

As regards Poe's feelings toward Mrs. Whitman, it is evident from the beginning that there was no real love on his part. He expressed no regret at the ending of his "divine dream of love," but seems rather to have experienced toward her a degree of resentment which thus found expression in a letter to a friend:

"From this day forth I shun the pestilential society of literary women. They are a heartless, unnatural, venomous, dishonorable set, with no guiding principle but inordinate self-esteem. Mrs. Osgood is the only exception I know of."

This tirade was doubtless excited partly by a scandal just now started by one of the literary set in question concerning Poe and a young married lady of Lowell. While delivering a lecture in that city he had been hospitably entertained at her home, where he spent several days, with the usual result of contracting a sentimental friendship with the charming hostess, whom he calls "Annie." During the latter part of his engagement to Mrs. Whitman his visits and attentions to this lady did not escape the notice of the "literary set," and a scandal was at once started by one of them, who drew the attention of "Annie's" husband to the matter. He accepted Poe's explanation and his proposal rather to give up the society of these friends than to be the cause of trouble to them, saying:

"I cannot and will not have it upon my conscience that I have interfered with the domestic happiness ofthe only being on earth whom I have loved at the same time with purity and with truth."

Certainly an extraordinary avowal to be made to the lady's husband; and we ask ourselves to how many women had he made a similar declaration?

We have seen that when Poe for the last time left Mrs. Whitman's he went direct to Fordham, where, said Mrs. Clemm, he raved about "Annie," and even sent to her, reminding her of the "holy promise which he had exacted from her in their hour of parting, that she would come to him on his bed of death," and now claiming the fulfilment of that promise. Whether or not she complied does not appear; but it is more than likely that the lines, "For Annie," were suggested by his fever-dreams of her presence, first written while still half-delirious, and subsequently slightly altered to their present form. This piece, with the lines, "To My Mother," after being declined by all the more prominent magazines, finally appeared in the cheap "Boston Weekly," and must have been a surprise to "Annie" and her husband.

But there was one woman of the "literary set" who showed that she at least was not deserving of the sweeping condemnation wherewith the irate poet had visited them. This was Mrs. Anna Estelle Lewis, a young poetess who, with her husband, was on friendly terms with Poe, and whose poems he had favorablynoticed. Poe was still, mentally and physically, in a state which rendered him incapable of writing, and the condition at Fordham was deplorable. Suspecting this state of things, Mrs. Lewis and her husband invited Poe to visit them at their home in Brooklyn, and Mr. Lewis says that thenceforth they frequently had both himself and Mrs. Clemm to stay with them. It was this kindly couple that R. H. Stoddard so sharply satirizes in his "Reminiscences" of Poe, while accepting an evening's hospitality at their home after the poet's death. On this occasion he met with Mrs. Clemm, of whom he has given a pen picture of which we instinctively recognize the life-likeness. We can see the good lady seated serenely among the company in her "black bombazine and conventional widow's cap," lightly fingering her eye-glasses, as was her company habit, and with her strongly marked features wearing that "benevolent" smile which was characteristic of her most amiable moods. "She assured me," says Stoddard, "that she had often heard her Eddie speak of me—which I doubted—and that she believed she had also heard him speak of the stripling by my side—which was an impossibility.... She regretted that she had no moreautographs to dispose of, but hinted that she could manufacture them, since she could exactly imitate her Eddie's handwriting; and this she told as though it had been to her credit."

Deeply chagrined at the ending of his affair with Mrs. Whitman, and consequent disappointment in regard to theStylus, Poe now, encouraged by his mother-in-law, again turned his thoughts to Mrs. Shelton.

It was in July that he and Mrs. Clemm left Fordham, he to proceed to Richmond, and she, having let their rooms until his return, to stay with the Lewises. Mr. Lewis says that it was at his front door that Poe took an affectionate leave of them all; Mrs. Clemm, ever watchful and careful against possible temptation or pitfalls by the way, accompanying him to the boat to see him off. In parting from her he spoke cheeringly and affectionately. "God bless you, my own darling Muddie. Do not fear for Eddie. See how good I will be while away; and I will come back to love and comfort you."8

And so, smiling and hopeful, the devoted mother stood upon the pier and watched to the last the receding form which she was never again to behold.

When Poe came to Richmond on this visit, he went first to Duncan Lodge, but afterward, for sake of the convenience of being in the city, took board at the oldSwan Tavern, on Broad street, once a fashionable hostelry, but at this time little more than a cheap, though respectable, boarding-house for business men. Broad street—so named from its unusual width—extended several miles in a straight line from Chimberazo Heights and Church Hill on the east, where Mrs. Shelton had her residence, to the western suburbs, where Duncan Lodge and our own home of "Talavera" were situated. This was the route which Poe traversed in his visits to Mrs. Shelton. There were no street cars in those days, hacks were expensive, and the walk from "the Swan" to Church Hill was long and fatiguing. Poe would break his journey by stopping to rest at the office of Dr. John Carter, a young physician who had recently hung out his sign, about half-way between those two points.

During the three months of his stay in Richmond we saw a good deal of Poe. He appeared at first to be in not very good health or spirits, but soon brightened up and was invariably cheerful, seeming to be enjoying himself. I do not know to what it was to be attributed, unless to his increased fame as a poet, but certainly his reception in Richmond at this time was very different from what it had been two years previously. He became the fashion; and wasfêtedin society and discussed in the papers. His friend, Mrs. Julia Mayo Cabell—a first cousin of Mrs. Allan—inaugurated the evening entertainments to which people were invited "to meet Mr. Poe." It was generally expected that at these gatherings he would reciteThe Raven, and this he was often obliging enough to do, though we knew that it was to him an unwelcome task. In our own home, no matter who were the visitors, we would never allow this request to be made of him after he had on one occasion gratified us by a recital. I remember on this occasion being disappointed in his manner of delivery. I had expected some little graceful and expressive action, but he sat motionless as a statue except that at the line,

"Prophet! cried I, thing of evil!"

he slightly erected his head; and again, in repeating:

"Get thee back into the tempest and the night's plutonian shore!"

he turned his face suddenly though slightly toward the outer darkness of the open window near which he sat, each time raising his voice. He explained his own idea to be that any action served to attract the attention of the audience from the poem to the speaker, thus detracting from the effect of the former. I was told how, at one of these entertainments, Poe was embarrassed by the persistent attentions of a moth or beetle, until a sympathetic old lady took a seat beside him and, with wild wavings of a huge fan, kept the troublesome insect at a distance. This mingling of the comic with the tragic element rather spoiled the effect of the latter, and though Poe preserved his dignity, he was perceptibly annoyed.

I never saw Mr. Poe in a large company,but was told that on such occasions he invariably assumed his mask of cold and proud reserve, not untouched by an expression of sadness, which was natural to his features when in repose. It was then that he "looked every inch a poet." In general companies he disliked any attempt to draw him out, never expressing himself freely, and at times manifesting a shyness amounting almost to an appearance of diffidence, which was very noticeable.

A marked peculiarity was that he never, while in Richmond, either in society or elsewhere, made any advance to acquaintance, or sought an introduction, even to a lady. Aware of the estimation in which his character was held by some persons, he stood aloof, in proud independence, though responding with ready courtesy to any advance from others. Ladies who desired Mr. Poe's acquaintance would be compelled to privately seek an introduction from some friend, since he himself never requested it, and it was observed that he preferred the society of mature women to that of the youthful belles, who were enthusiastic over the author ofLenoreandThe Raven.

Mr. Poe spent his mornings in town, but in the evenings would generally drive out to Duncan Lodge with some of the Mackenzies. He liked the half-country neighborhood, and would sometimes join us in our sunset rambles in the romantic old Hermitage grounds. Those were pleasant evenings at Duncan Lodge and Talavera, with no lack of company at either place.

One pleasant though slightly drizzly morning in the latter part of September I sat in our parlor at Talavera at a table on which were some new magazines and a vase of tea roses freshly gathered. Opposite me sat Mr. Poe. A basket of grapes—his favorite fruit—had been placed between us; and as we leisurely partook of them we chatted lightly.

He inquired at length what method I pursued in my writing. The idea was new to me, and on my replying that I wrote only on the impulse of a newly conceived idea, he proceeded to give me some needed advice. I must make astudyof my poem, he said, line by line and word by word, and revise and correct it until it was as perfect as it could be made. It was in this way that he himself wrote. And then he spoke ofThe Raven.

He had before told me of the difficulties which he had experienced in writing this poem and of how it had lain for more thanten yearsin his desk unfinished, while he would at long intervals work on it, adding a few words or lines, altering, omitting and even changing the plan or idea of the poem in the endeavor to make of it something which would satisfy himself.

His first intention, he said, had been to write a short poem only, based upon the incident of anOwl—a night-bird, the bird of wisdom—with its ghostly presence and inscrutable gaze entering the window of a vault or chamber where he sat beside the bier of the lostLenore. Then he had exchanged the Owl for the Raven, for sake of the latter's "Nevermore"; and the poem, despite himself, had grown beyond the length originally intended.

Does not this explain why the Raven—though not, like the Owl, a night-bird—should be represented as attracted by the lighted window, and, perching "upon thebust of Pallas," which would be more appropriate to the original Owl, Minerva's bird? Also, we recognize the latter in the lines:

"By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore."9

Poe, in adopting the Raven, evidently did not obliterate all traces of the Owl.

Of these troubles with the poem he had before informed me, and now, in answer to a remark of mine, he said, in effect:

"The Ravenwas never completed. It was published before I had given the final touches. There were in it certain knotty points and tangles which I had never been able to overcome, and I let it go as it was."

He told how, toward the last, he had become heartily tired of and disgusted with the poem, of which he had so poor an opinion that he was many times on the point of destroying it. I believe that his having published it under thenom de plumeof "Quarles" was owing to this lack of confidence in it, and that had it proven a failure he would never have acknowledged himself the author. He feared to risk his literary reputation on what appeared to him of such uncertain merit.

He now, in speaking of the poem, regrettedthat he had not fully completed before publishing it.

"If I had a copy of it here," he said, "I could show you those knotty points of which I spoke, and which I have found it impossible to do away with," adding: "Perhaps you will help me. I am sure that you can, if you will."

I did not feel particularly flattered by this proposal, knowing that since his coming to Richmond he had made a similar request of at least two other persons. However, I cleared the table of the fruit and the flowers and placed before him several sheets of generous foolscap, on which I had copied for a friendThe Ravenas it was first published. He requested me to read it aloud, and as I did so, slowly and carefully, he sat, pencil in hand, ready to mark the difficult passages of which he had spoken.

I paused at the third line. Had I not myself often noted the incongruity of representing the poet as pondering overmanya volume instead of a single one? I glanced inquiringly at Mr. Poe and, noting his unconscious look, proceeded. When I reached the line,

"And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor;"

he gave a slight shiver or shrug of the shoulders—an expressive motion habitual to him—and the pencil came down with an emphatic stroke beneath the six last words.

This was one of the hardest knots, he said, nor could he find a way of getting over it. "Ember" was the only word rhyming with the two preceding lines, but in no way could he dispose of it except as he had done—thus producing the worst line in the poem.

We "pondered" over it for awhile and finally gave it up.

(But I may here mention that I have since, in studying the poem, made a discovery which, strangely enough, seems never to have occurred to the author. This was that in this particular stanza he had unconsciously reversed the order or arrangement of the lines, placing those of the triple rhymes first and the rhyming couplet last. Thus all his long years of worry over that unfortunate "ember" had been unnecessary, since the construction of the verse required not only the omission of the word as a rhyme, but of the whole line of

"And each separate dying ember;"

when the succeeding objectionable words,

"Wrought its ghost upon the floor,"

could have been easily altered; and the addition of a third line to the succeeding couplet would have made the stanza correct.)

Our next pause was at the word "beast," through which he ran his pencil.

"Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above my chamber door."

"I must get rid of that word," he said; "for, of course, no beast could be expected to occupy such a position."

"Oh, yes; a mouse, for instance," I suggested, at which he gave me one of his rare humorous smiles.

Leaving this point for future consideration, we passed on to a more serious difficulty.

"This and more I sat divining,With my head at ease recliningOn the cushion's velvetlining, with the lamplight gloated o'er."

The knotty point here was in the word "lining"—a blunder obvious to every reader. Poe said that the only way he could see of gettingover the difficulty was by omitting the whole stanza. But he was unwilling to give up that "violet velvet" chair, which, with the "purple silken curtain," he considered a picturesque adjunct to the scene, imparting to it a character of luxury which served as a relief to the more sombre surroundings. I had so often heard this impossible "lining" criticised that when he inquired, "Shall I omit or retain the stanza?" I ventured to suggest that it might be better to give up the stanza than have the poem marred by a defect so conspicuous. For a moment he held the pencil poised, as if in doubt, and I have since wondered what would have been his decision.

But just here we were interrupted by the tumultuous entrance of my little dog, Pink, in hot pursuit of the family cat. The latter took refuge beneath the table at which we were seated, and there ensued a brisk exchange of duelistic passes, until I called off Pink and Mr. Poe took up the cat and, placing her on his knee, stroked her soothingly, inquiring if she were my pet. Upon my disclaiming any partiality for felines, he said, "I like them," and continued his gentle caressing. (Was he thinking ofCatalina, his wife's pet cat, which he had left at home at Fordham, and whichafter her death had sat upon his shoulder as he wrote far into the night? Recalling his grave and softened expression, I think that it must have been so. But at that time I had never heard of Catalina.)

But now came the final and most difficult "tangle" of all—the blunder apparent to the world—the defect which mars the whole poem, and yet is contained in but a single line:

"And the lamplight o'er him streaming casts his shadow on the floor."

Poe declared this to be hopeless, and that it was, in fact, the chief cause of his dissatisfaction with the poem. Indeed, it may well excite surprise that he, so careful and fastidious as to the completeness of his work, should have allowedThe Ravento go from his hands marred by a defect so glaring, but this is proof that he did indeed regard it as hopeless.

When Mr. Poe left us on this September morning he took with him this manuscript copy ofThe Raven; which, however, he on the following day handed to me, begging that I would keep it until his return from New York.I found that he had marked several minor defects in the poem, one of which was his objection to the word "shutter," as being too commonplace and not agreeing with the word "lattice," previously used.

He remarked, before leaving for New York, that he intended havingThe Raven, after some further work upon it, published in an early number of theStylus. I do not doubt but that, had he lived, he would have made it much more perfect than it now is.

After his death his friend, Mr. Robert Sully, the Richmond artist, was desirous of making a picture of theRaven, but explained to me why it could not be done—all on account of that impossible "shadow on the floor." Of course, said he, to produce such an effect the lamplight must come from above and behind the bust and the bird. No; it was impracticable."

This set me to thinking; and the result was that I, some time after, went to Mr. Sully's studio and said to him: "How would it do to have a glass transom above the door; one of those large fan-shaped transoms which we sometimes find in old colonial mansions, opening on a lofty galleried hall?"

It would do, he said. Indeed, with such anarrangement, and the lamp supposed to be suspended from the hall ceiling, as in those old mansions, there would be no difficulty with either the poem or the picture. And we were both delighted at our discovery, and thought how pleased Poe would have been with the idea—so effective in explaining that mysterious shadow on the floor.

Mr. Sully commenced upon his picture, but died before completing it.

This manuscript copy ofThe Raven, with all its pencil-marks, as made by Mr. Poe on that September morning, remained in my possession for many years. It is yet photographed upon my memory, with all the details here given from an odd leaf of a journal which I kept about that time—the quiet parlor, the outside drizzle, the books, the roses, and the face and figure of Mr. Poe as he gravely bent over that manuscript copy of his immortal poem ofThe Raven.

Had he no premonition that even then a darker shadow than that of theRavenwas hovering over him? It was one of the last occasions on which I ever saw him.

Poe's first visits on his arrival in Richmond had been to Mrs. Shelton, and it soon became known that an engagement existed between them, although they were never seen together in public, and Poe on all occasions denied the engagement. Yet morning after morning the curious neighbors were treated to a sight of the poet ascending the steps of the tall, plain, substantial looking brick house on the corner of Grace street, facing the rear of St. John's church, and had they watched more closely they might at times have seen another figure following in its footsteps. This was Rosalie Poe, who, delighted at her brother's engagement, and being utterly without tact or judgment, would present herself at Mrs. Shelton's door shortly after his own arrival, as she said, for the pleasure of seeing the couple together. Once she surprised them at atête-à-têteluncheon at which "corned beef and mustard" figured;but on another occasion Mrs. Shelton met and informed her that Mr. Poe had a headache from his long walk and was resting on the parlor sofa, where she herself would attend to him, and so dismissed her, to her great indignation. Not alone to Mrs. Shelton's were these "shadowings" of her brother confined, but if she at any time knew of his intention to call at some house where she herself was acquainted, she would as likely as not make her own appearance during his visit; or, in promenading Broad street, he would unexpectedly find himself waylaid and introduced to some prosy acquaintance of his sister. It required Mrs. Mackenzie's authority to relieve him from these annoyances. There was, however, something pathetic in the sister's pride in and affection for a brother from whom she received but little manifestation of regard. He treated her indulgently, but, as she herself often said, in her homely way, "Edgar could never love me as I do him,because he is so far above me."

About the middle of August Mrs. Shelton's interested neighbors observed that the poet's visits to her suddenly ceased; and then followed a report that the engagement was broken, and that a bitter estrangement existedbetween the two. Mr. Woodbury, Poe's biographer, doubts this, and declares that, "We have no evidence that such was the case;" but we, who were on the spot, as it were, and had opportunity of judging,knewthat the report was true. Miss Van Lew, the famous "war postmistress" of Richmond, once said to me as, standing on the porch of her house, she pointed out Mrs. Shelton's residence: "I used at first to often see Mr. Poe enter there, but never during the latter part of his stay in Richmond. It seemed to be known about here that the engagement was off.... Gossip had it that Mrs. Shelton discarded him because persuaded by friends that he was after her money. All her relatives are said to be opposed to the match."

From Poe's own confidential statement to Mr. John Mackenzie, who had first suggested the match with Mrs. Shelton, it appears that money considerations was really the cause of the trouble. Mrs. Shelton had the reputation of being a thorough business woman and very careful and cautious with regard to her money. Poe was at this time canvassing in the interests of theStylus, in which he received great encouragement from his friends, but when he applied to Mrs. Shelton it is certain that shefailed to respond as he desired. She had no faith in the success of his plan, neither any sympathy with its purpose. Also, in discussing arrangements for their marriage, she announced her intention of keeping entire control of her property. Poe himself broke their engagement. Next there arose a difficulty concerning certain letters which the lady desired to have returned to her and which he declined to give up, except on condition of receiving his own. Possibly each feared that these letters might some time fall into the hands of Poe's biographers. If they were written during his courtship of Mrs. Whitman, and when still uncertain of the result, he appears to have been keeping Mrs. Shelton in reserve.

Mrs. Shelton, during a few days' absence of Poe at the country home of Mr. John Mackenzie, came to Duncan Lodge and appealed to Mrs. Mackenzie to influence Poe in returning her letters. I saw her on this occasion—a tall, rather masculine-looking woman, who drew her veil over her face as she passed us on the porch, though I caught a glimpse of large, shadowy, light blue eyes which must once have been handsome. We heard no more of her until some time about the middle of September, when suddenly Poe's visits to her were resumed, though in a very quiet manner. It seems certain that the engagement was then renewed, and that Mrs. Shelton must have promised to assist Poe in his literary enterprise; for from that time he was enthusiastic in regard to theStylusand what he termed its "assured success." He even commenced arranging aTable of Contentsfor the first number of the magazine; and Mrs. Mackenzie told me how he one morning spent an hour in her room taking from her information, notes anddatafor an article which he intended to appear in one of its earliest numbers. He was in high spirits, and declared that he had never felt in better health. This was after an attack of serious illness, due to his association with dissipated companions. Tempted as he was on every side and wherever he went in the city, it was not strange that he had not always the strength of will to resist; and twice during this visit to Richmond he was subject to attacks somewhat similar to those which he had known at Fordham, and through which he was now kindly nursed by his friends at Duncan Lodge.

Poe gave but one public lecture on this visit to Richmond—that on "The Poetic Principle"—and of this most exaggerated accounts have been given by several writers, even to the present day, they representing it to have been a great financial success. One recent lecturer remarks upon the strangeness of the fate when, just as the hitherto impecunious poet was "about returning home with five thousand and five hundred dollars in his pocket, he should have been robbed of it all." The truth of the matter is that but two hundred and fifty tickets were printed, the price being fifty cents each, and, as Dr. William Gibbon Carter informed me, there were by actual count not more than one hundred persons present at the lecture, some being holders of complimentary tickets. Another account says there were but sixty present, but that they were of the veryeliteof the city. Considering that from the proceeds of the lecture all expenses of hall rent had to be paid, we cannot wonder at Poe's writing to Mrs. Clemm, "My poor, poor Muddie, I am yet unable to send you a single dollar."

I was present at this lecture, with my mother and sister and Rose Poe, who as we took seats reserved for us, left her party and joined us. I noticed that Poe had no manuscript, and that, though he stood like a statue,he held his audience as motionless as himself—fascinated by his voice and expression. Rose pointed out to me Mrs. Shelton, seated conspicuously in front of the platform, facing the lecturer. This position gave me a good view of her, with her large, deep-set, light-blue eyes and sunken cheeks, her straight features, high forehead and cold expression of countenance. Doubtless she had been handsome in her youth, but the impression which she produced upon me was that of a sensible, practical woman, the reverse of a poet's ideal. And yet she says "Poe often told her that she was the original of his lostLenore."

When Poe had concluded his lecture, he lightly and quickly descended the platform and, passing Mrs. Shelton without notice, came to where we were seated, greeting us in his usual graceful manner. He looked pleased, smiling and handsome. The audience arose, but made no motion to retire; watching him as he talked and evidently waiting to speak to him; but he never glanced in their direction. Rose, radiantly happy, stood drawn up to her full height, and observed, "Edgar, only see how the people are staring at the poet and his sister." I believe it to have been the proudest moment of her life, and one which sheever delighted to recall. This occurred during the period of estrangement between Poe and Mrs. Shelton.

Quite suddenly, in the latter part of September, Poe decided to go to New York. His object was, as he himself declared, to make some arrangements in regard to theStylus, though gossip said to bring Mrs. Clemm on to his marriage.

It is difficult to get a clear idea of the relation between Poe and Mrs. Shelton, owing to the contradictory statements of the two. Undoubtedly they must have met during Poe's first visit to Richmond, and he tells Mrs. Whitman that he was about to address the lady when her own letters caused him to change his mind. And yet Mrs. Shelton speaks of their meeting on his last visit as though it had been the first since their youthful acquaintance. As she entered the parlor, she says, on his first call, "I knew him at once," and, as the pious and practical woman that she was, she adds, "I told him that I was on my way to church, and that I allowed nothing to interfere with this duty." She says also in herReminiscences, "I was never engaged to him, but there was an understanding;" and yet, on his death, she appeared in public attired in deepest widow's weeds. That she was devoted to him appears from her own letter to Dr. Moran when informed by him of Poe's death, "He was dearer to me than any other living creature." Poe himself, writing to Mrs. Clemm, says: "Elmira has just returned from the country. I believe that she loves me more devotedly than any one Ieverknew." He adds, apparently in allusion to his marriage, "Nothing has yet been arranged, and it will not do to hurry matters," concluding with, "If possible, I will get married before leaving Richmond."

On his deathbed in Washington he said to Dr. Moran, "Sir, I was to have been married in ten days," and requested him to write to Mrs. Shelton.

One evening—it was Sunday, the 2d of October—Dr. John Carter was seated alone in his office when Poe entered, having just paid a farewell visit to Mrs. Shelton before leaving in the morning for New York. He remarked to Dr. Carter that he would probably stop for one day in Baltimore, and perhaps also in Philadelphia, on business; would like to remain longer, but had written to Mrs. Clemm to expect him at Fordham some time this week. He would be back in Richmond in about a fortnight.

While talking, he took up a handsome malacca sword-cane belonging to Dr. Carter and absently played with it. He looked grave and preoccupied; several times inquired the hour, and at length rising suddenly, remarked that he would step over to Saddler's restaurant and get supper. He took the cane with him, Dr. Carter understanding from this circumstanceand his not taking leave, that he would presently return on his way to theSwan, where he had left his baggage. He did not, however, reappear; and on the next morning Dr. Carter inquired about him at Saddler's. The proprietor said that Poe and two friends had remained to a late hour, talking and drinking moderately, and had then left together to go aboard the boat, which would start at four o'clock for Baltimore. He said that Poe, when he left, was in good spirits and quite sober; though this last may be doubted, since he not only forgot to return Dr. Carter's cane but to send for his own baggage at the Swan Some persons have insisted that Poe must have been drugged by these men, who were strangers to Mr. Saddler, and there was even a sensational story published in a Northern magazine to the effect that Poe had been followed to Baltimore by two of Mrs. Shelton's brothers, and there, after having certain letters taken from him, beaten so severely that he was found dying in an obscure alley. This story was first started by Mrs. Elizabeth Oakes Smith in one of the New York journals, though it does not appear from what source she derived her information. No denial was made or noticetaken of it by Mrs. Shelton's friends, and the story gradually died out.

For over forty years the mystery of the tragic death of the poet remained a mystery, strangely and persistently defying all attempts at elucidation. But within the last few years there has appeared in a St. Louis paper a communication which professes to give a truthful account of the circumstances connected with the poet's death, and which wears such an appearance of probability that it is at least worth considering.

This letter, which is addressed to the editor of the paper, is from a certain Dr. Snodgrass, who represents himself to have been for many years a resident of Dakota. He says that on the evening of October 2, 1849, being in Baltimore, he stepped into a plain but respectable eating-house or restaurant kept by an Irish widow, where, to his surprise, he met with Poe, whom he had once been accustomed to meet here, but had not seen for some years. After taking some refreshment, they left the place together, but had not proceeded far when they were seized upon by two men, who hurried them off to some place where they were, with several others, kept close prisoners through the night and following day, though otherwise well treated. It was the eve of a great municipal election, and the city was wild with excitement. Next evening the kidnappers, having drugged their captives, hurried them to the polls, where they, in a half-conscious condition, were made to vote over and over again. The doctor, it appears, was only partially affected, but Poe succumbed utterly, and at length one of the men said, "What is the use of dragging around a dead man?" With that, they called a hack, put Poe within it, and ordered the driver to take him to the Washington Hospital.

Dr. Snodgrass says positively: "I myself saw Poe thrust into the hack, heard the order given, and saw the vehicle drive off with its unconscious burden."

Thus—if this account may be relied upon—ended the strange, sad tragedy of the poet's life; none stranger, none sadder, in all the annals of modern literature.

Dr. Snodgrass intimates that his reason for so long a delay in making this story known was his unwillingness to have his own part in the affair exposed, and with the notoriety which its connection with the poet would render unavoidable. But now, he says, in his old age, and having outlived all who knew himat the time, this consideration is of little worth to him. If the story be not true, we cannot see why it should have been invented. At least, it cannot, at the present day, be disproved, and it certainly appears to be the most probable and natural explanation of the poet's death that has been given. It agrees also with Dr. Moran's account of Poe's condition when he was received at the hospital, and with the latter's earnest assurance that he himself was not responsible for that condition, and also with his requesting that Dr. Snodgrass be sent for. The kidnappers had probably exchanged his garments for others as a means of disguise, intending to restore them eventually. They at least did not take from him the handsome malacca cane which was in his grasp when he reached the hospital; and which which would tend to prove that he was not then altogether unconscious. This cane was, at Dr. Carter's request, returned to him by Mrs. Clemm, to whom Dr. Moran sent it. His baggage, left at the Swan, was sent by Mr. Mackenzie to Mrs. Clemm, disproving the story that it had been stolen from him in Baltimore.

In addition to the above, we find another and very similar account, apparently by thesame Dr. Snodgrass, in the "San Francisco Chronicleof August 31," the date of the year not appearing on the clipping from which I make the following extracts:

"You say that Poe did not die from the effects of deliberate dissipation?" asked theChroniclereporter.

"That is just what I do mean; and I say further that he died from the effects of deliberate murder."

The author of this assertion was a well-known member of this city's advanced and inveterate Bohemia; a gentleman who has long since retired from the active pursuits of his profession and spends his old age in dreamy meditation, frequenting one of the popular resorts of the craft, but mingling little in their society. When joining in their conversation, it is generally to correct some errors from his inexhaustible mine of reminiscences, and on these occasions his words are few and precise.

"Then you knew something of the poet, Doctor?"

"I was his intimate associate for years. Much that biographers have said of him is false, especially regarding his death. Poe was not an habitual drunkard, but he was a steady drinker when his means admitted of it. Hishabitual resort when in Baltimore was the Widow Meagher's place, on the city front, inexpensive, but respectable, having an oyster and liquor stand, and corresponding in some respects with the coffee shops of San Francisco. Here I frequently met him."

"But about his death?"

"The mystery of the poet's death had remained a mystery for more than forty years when there appeared in a Texas paper an article from the pen of the editor, in which he gave a letter from a Dr. Snodgrass professing to reveal the truth of the matter.

"About the time that this article was published there appeared one in the San FranciscoChronicleby a reporter of that paper, telling of an interview which he had with this same Dr. Snodgrass, of whom he says: 'He was a well-known literary Bohemian of this city who long ago gave up his profession and is spending his old age in a state of dreamy existence from which he is seldom aroused except to correct some error concerning people and things of past times, of which he possesses a mine of reminiscences.'"

The Doctor, denying that Poe had died from dissipation, gave an account of the manner of his death as he knew it, correspondingin all particulars with that given by him to the Texas editor. In conclusion, he said:

"Poe did not die of dissipation. I say that he was deliberately murdered. He died of laudanum or some other drug forced upon him by his kidnappers. When one said, 'What is the use of carrying around a dying man?' they put him in a cab and sent him to the hospital. I was there and saw it myself."

"Poe had been shifting about between Baltimore, Philadelphia and New York for some years. Once he had been away for several months in Richmond, and one evening turned up at the widow's. I was there when he came in. Then it was drinks all round, and at length we were real jolly. It was the eve of an election, and we started up town. There were four of us, and we had not gone half a dozen squares when we were nabbed by policemen, who were looking up voters to "coop." It was the practice in those days to seize people, whether drunk or sober, and keep them locked up until the polls were opened and then march them to every precinct in control of the party having the coop. This coop was in the rear of an engine-house on Calvert street. It was part of the plan to stupefy the prisoners with drugged liquor. Next day we were voted atthirty different places, it being as much as one's life was worth to rebel. Poe was so badly drugged that he had to be carried on two or three rounds, and then the gang said it was no use trying any longer to vote a dead man and must get rid of him. And with that they shoved him into a cab and sent him away."

"Then he died from dissipation, after all?"

"Nothing of the kind. He died from the effects of laudanum or some other poison forced on him in the coop. He was in a dying condition when being voted twenty or thirty times. The story told by Griswold and others of his being picked up in the street is a lie. I saw him thrust into the cab myself."

And Mrs. Clemm?

When she received Poe's letter bidding her to expect him at Fordham that week, she hastened thither to set her house in order for his reception. Day after day she watched and waited, but he did not come. And at length, when the week had passed, she one evening sat alone in the little cottage around which and through the naked branches of the cherry tree the October wind was sighing, and in anguish of spirit wrote to "Annie":

"Eddie is dead—dead."

In the fall of 1865—the year which saw the conclusion of the unhappy war—I returned to Richmond and to my old home of Talavera, which I had not seen in four years.

What a shock to me was the first sight of it! In place of the pleasant, smiling home, there stood a bare and lonely house in the midst of encircling fortifications, still bristling with dismantled gun-carriages. Every outbuilding had disappeared. All the beautiful trees which had made it so attractive—even the young cedar of Lebanon, which had been our pride—were gone; greenhouses, orchard, vineyard, everything, had been swept away, leaving only a dead level overgrown with broom-straw, amidst which were scattered rusted bayonets and a few hardy plants struggling through the trampled ground. The place was no longer "Talavera," but "Battery 10."

In this desolate abode I remained some time,awaiting the arrival of our scattered family, and with no protectors save a faithful old negro couple. Each evening we would barricade as well as we could the entrance to the fort, as some slight protection against the hordes of newly freed negroes who roamed the country, living on whatever they could pick up.

One evening when we had taken this precaution, some one was heard calling without, and, mounting the ramparts, I beheld a forlorn looking figure in black standing upon the outer edge of the trench. It proved to be Rosalie Poe; and when I had brought her into the light and warmth of the fire, I saw how changed and ill she appeared. She told me of the Mackenzies. Mrs. Mackenzie was dead. "Mat" (Mrs. Byrd) was a widow, with a beautiful young daughter, and her brother, Mr. Richard, was in wretched health. Miss Jane Mackenzie had died in England, leaving her fortune to her brother, residing there, and the destruction of the war had completed the poverty of the family. They lived on a little place in the country, with a cow and a garden as their chief means of support. "They have to work for a living now," Rose said, forlornly; "but I am not strong enough to work. I amgoing to Baltimore, to my relations there, and see what they can do for me."

I inquired after young Dr. Mackenzie, gay, handsome, genial "Tom," whom everybody loved.

"Tom is dead," said Rose, sadly. "He died of camp-fever and bad food. When he came home he had only the clothes which he wore, and a neighbor gave us something to bury him in."

With a pang I thought of the gay wedding at Duncan Lodge, and the happy faces that had been there assembled.

When Rose left me, I could but hope that she would be kindly received by her relatives in Baltimore. But some months thereafter, being in New York, I received from her a number of photographs of her brother, which she begged of me to dispose of for her benefit at one dollar each. Mrs. M. A. Kidder, of Boston, kindly interested herself in the matter, but wrote me that she met with but poor success, at even the reduced price of twenty-five cents, people saying that they had not sufficient respect for Poe's character to care to possess his portrait. I found it to be nearly the same in New York. And meantime Rose wrote me every few days.

"Dear S——: Haven't you got anything for me yet? Do try and do something for me, for I am worse off now than ever. I walk about the streets all day" (trying to dispose of her brother's pictures), "and at night have to look for a place to sleep. I feel like a lost sheep."

Thus the sister of Edgar A. Poe, in the year 1868, wandered homeless and friendless through the streets of Baltimore, as more than thirty years previous her brother had done.

We heard long afterward that, through some kind Northern lady, she applied for admittance to theLouise Home, in Washington, which Mr. Corcoran was willing to grant, but that certain of his "guests"—ladies who had formerly occupied high social positions—were of opinion that, considering Miss Poe's eccentricities, she would be better suited and better satisfied in a less pretentious establishment. Finally she was received into the "Epiphany Church Home," in Washington, where she seems to have enjoyed a good deal of liberty, being often seen riding on the street cars and visiting the offices of wealthy business men, who, if they did not care to possess a photograph of Poe, were yet willing to assist his penniless sister. It was never known what she did with the money so collected; but from aletter to Mrs. Byrd, it would appear that her intention was to purchase a grave for herself near that of her brother. Mrs. Byrd wrote to me: "I think Poe's friends might lay Rose in a grave beside him. It has always been her dearest wish."

Rosalie Poe died suddenly, with a letter in her hand but that moment received, and which, when opened, proved to be from Mr. George W. Childs, enclosing a check for fifty dollars; doubtless in answer to an application for aid.

They gave her a pauper's grave in the cemetery of the Epiphany Church Home. The record of her death by the Board is:

"Rosalie Poe. Died June 14, 1874. Aged 64."

Some years after the death of Rose Poe, I received a visit from Mrs. Byrd, whom I had not seen since the war, and we talked over times past and present. It had been Rosalie's own choice, she said, to go to Baltimore. She did not like the country or the hard life which they were leading. She must have collected considerable money, but never told where she kept it; nor was it ever found.

She told me about her family. Her pretty daughter had married a poor man in preference to a rich one who had offered, and theyhad two beautiful babies and were very happy. Her brother Richard was infirm and able to do but little work. They had a little place in the country, where they raised their own vegetables, and sent poultry and eggs to market. She and her son-in-law did all the hard work about the place. "I wash and cook for six persons," said she, cheerily. "Yes," she continued, in her old quaint way, "we are poor, but respectable, and I am more content than ever I was at Duncan Lodge. I feel that I have something to live for, and the working life suits me. Yes, we are happy; although there are not two tea-cups in the house of the same pattern."

She spoke of Poe, whom she considered to have been always unjustly treated. Everybody could see what his faults were, but few gave him credit for his good qualities—his generous nature and kindly and affectionate disposition, especially as exemplified in the harmony always existing between himself and his wife and mother-in-law. While giving the latter full credit for her devotion to Edgar, her impression was that, except in the matter of his dissipation, her influence over him had not been for good. Her mother and brother, John, believed that the marriage with Virginiahad been the greatest misfortune of his life, and that he himself, while patiently resigning himself to his lot, had come to regard it as such.

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